The Observer
by Jane McCartney
Summary: After a tragedy hits home for Xander, he moves to Los Angeles and becomes a shadow of his old self, shoving his friends away in his new life. Two years later, the pain and quarrel of his past is back to catch up with him. (BtVS/AtS crossover)
1. Lifeless

Title: The Observer  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.  
  
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.  
  
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.  
  
Summary: As his health decreases and every trace of the man he used to be seems to be just a shade of an abandoned life, Xander finds out that he has to deal once again with the pain and quarrel of his past. Post S6 and S3, B/A crossover.  
  
***  
  
Xander Harris staggered along the living room to the bathroom of his home, and took a quick look into the mirror.  
  
The reflection of a slumped, drained man stared back at him; his brown orbs seemed like hollow pits, and the man's eyes had dark circles below them. His features were incredibly thin, and his dark locks of hair, longish and loose, hung in front of Xander's face.  
  
The former Slayerette quickly diverted his eyes away, and pushed the knob at the mirror's side to uncover the hidden shelves behind it.  
  
Several bottles filled with many different kinds of pills were either piled up or lined up on the wooden edge. Xander took one of the bottles in his hand and opened it, taking two little white pills and swallowing them with a mouthful of water.  
  
The dark-haired man sighed with great weariness and closed the door of the small closet, finding himself obligated to stare at his shadowy reflection once more.  
  
His initial impulse was to punch the mirror so hard his hands would bleed, and the surface's glass would shatter into millions of little pieces.  
  
But after so much time, he had learned to control himself and simply deflected his gaze from the glassy surface, his steps leading him out of the bathroom.  
  
His body fell onto the couch, and Xander passed a hand through his dark hair - and that was when the memories assaulted his mind, like they so often did.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
"You fuckin' son of a bitch!" Xander yelled, his body and face connecting with the foliage of the forest's trees with uttered every word.  
  
If possible, his pace increased to an even higher speed as he ran even faster; Xander's target, a man about his height who had longish hair, and whose face was obscured by the nightfall's darkness, was getting closer with every new step.  
  
But when they reached the roadway, the unknown man jumped abruptly in front of the sole passing car. Its alarmed motorist stopped the vehicle with a loud honk of the horn, just two meters away from connecting with the stranger.  
  
"Are you freaking crazy or just a moron, you bastard?!" the medium-sized motorist started shouting, but the stranger just shoved a sharp knife deep into the other man's chest.  
  
"You know, the doctors say I'm most likely the first option," the stranger murmured with an odd tranquility in the agonized man's ear, and carelessly let his body drop onto the harsh asphalt.  
  
"But, hey, I never believed much of what they say anyway," he amended with a cold smirk, getting into the car and starting the engine.  
  
Despite Xander's great speed, the unknown man had had a considerable advantage of distance and the Slayerette was only capable of reaching the scene at that precise moment.  
  
And he was not able to do anything except watch, as the car sped away.  
  
Taking a moment to recover his gasping breath, Xander turned to the wounded man, "Are you Ok?"  
  
He reconsidered his words quickly. "Alright, that was a stupid question. Look, stay still and I'll call for help, Ok?"  
  
"Oh man, he stabbed me! He actually stabbed me!" the injured guy suddenly cried, his voice rough from the injury; and, occasionally, he coughed blood.  
  
"I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die," the medium-sized wounded man started to mumble. "And I didn't even tell Tina I love her! Shit, and I just got a promotion last week! I was gonna be the secretary of the secretary!"  
  
"Look, relax, you're not going to die, all right?" Xander tried to calm the mumbling man, and cursed as his cell phone didn't succeed on the first try to get a connection.  
  
And then, unforeseeably, two yellow pools of light glittered on the darkness of the roadway, momentarily blinding Xander.  
  
As the dark-haired man raised his hands to cover his eyes by pure instinct, he noticed the lights were actually headlights, and that the car's owner was now coming straight at him, at full speed.  
  
The first thought that passed through Xander's mind was to get away from the stabbed man, so that his maniac pursuer wouldn't turn the guy into roadkill.  
  
Thus, the construction worker threw his body towards the forest, but the car was way faster and bumped into him - shoving the dark-haired guy onto the cold asphalt.  
  
The collision hadn't been strong enough to injure Xander, at least not more than to generate a few bruises, and both he and the stranger knew that that had been on purpose.  
  
Because, in the unknown man's mind, Xander was too much of a vital piece in the puzzle - a vital factor in the stranger's plans. Plans that had been taking form, during the last few months.  
  
Xander tried to make out the identity of the man's face, but the darkness and his position made that damn well impossible.  
  
Before the Slayerette could do anything else, the car was once more disappearing onto the roadway, but not before the thief had shoved two sealed envelopes out the window.  
  
"Oh, my car dude, that was my car! I just finished paying the last installment this month, already!" the wounded man wailed with a moan.  
  
"And here I'm thinking I was the unluckiest guy in town," Xander said absent-mindedly, as one of his hands held the cell phone to call for help and the other grabbed one of the envelopes.  
  
His fingers impatiently opened it to find what looked like a personal card, like those usually owned by businessmen.  
  
In the middle of it, two words were printed - it was the strange man's personal signature, unlike the cards of ordinary businessmen: [The Observer].  
  
Startled for a second, Xander turned the small card over and found a small sentence, written in a stylized font this time.  
  
[She looks so pretty when she has her hair like this.]  
  
Xander's heart skipped a beat, and he let the cell phone drop from his ear as a female voice said on the other end of the line, "Sunnydale Memorial, how can I help you?"  
  
He opened the other envelope violently; and when the young carpenter finally managed to succeed in getting it open, he found a picture.  
  
With a certain fear, Xander noticed that, in the corner of it, there was the date and the hour the photograph was taken - 09/15/03, 8:34 p.m.  
  
That had only been 45 minutes earlier.  
  
The photograph was of a petite young woman with long, straight blonde hair, done up in a ponytail. She was wearing blue pajamas, and opening a fridge.  
  
A little dazed, Xander managed to shove the cell phone at Steven Masterson - for that was the wounded man's name - and mumbled, "Hey, call for help, 'kay? The number's on speed dial, you just press #2..."  
  
"Where are you going?!" Steven shouted with a hint of despair, but Xander seemed to ignore him and just threw his body in front of another passing vehicle, the first one to appear since Steven's car.  
  
The dark-haired man took out a badge and said, "I need to borrow your car, sir."  
  
At the first sight of protest by the motorist, Xander aggressively grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and threw him out of the car, forcing the man to open the car's door in a somehow awkward movement.  
  
"What an asshole-" the short man still managed to scream, before noticing Steven's bloodied silhouette on the asphalt. "-am I!" he amended quickly, his eyes wide and his voice suddenly nervous.  
  
"Y-you can keep the car if you want! I, I really don't mind!" the motorist babbled, but Xander was already long gone.  
  
Cruising at the highest possible speed, Xander reached the apartment complex eight minutes later. All of his actions, every step he took - it felt like being on auto pilot, as the dark-haired man climbed the stairs jumping three, four, five steps at a time.  
  
And, as Xander entered the apartment, he found the woman tied up in a chair.  
  
But she wasn't moving.  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
Xander woke up from his fleeting remembrance, rubbing his temples with a defeated sigh.  
  
He picked up a pile of papers that had lain forgotten on his desk and wandered his eyes along them with noticeable disinterest, until an old picture that had been lost in the middle of the papers fell onto the floor.  
  
Xander bent over to pick it up, and felt his blood freeze.  
  
~Flashback ~  
  
"Oooh, look at them! Can we have one of those?" Anya chimed in, her body lost in the larger embrace of her husband.  
  
"Ahn, remember the commitment problem thing?" Xander replied, somehow awkwardly.  
  
"You mean your paralyzing fear of having a family, because you wrongly think you could become your father?" the young woman asked with a frown.  
  
"And that would be the one," Xander confirmed with a forced chuckle, suddenly feeling the need to loosen the collar of his shirt.  
  
"That's lame and unacceptable," the former demoness rationalized. "You already used that excuse on our wedding day, to run away that time."  
  
"But we did eventually end up getting married," the carpenter shot back.  
  
"Yeah, a year later," Anya just groaned.  
  
This from a woman who had become and given up being a demoness twice in her long life, the first time because she had been obligated to and the second by her own free will.  
  
"Oookay, wrong tactic here," Xander mumbled nervously.  
  
He pushed gently his wife's body away from his own, and Anya let out a moan of protest.  
  
"OK, now, I'm in favor of having children with you. But we can, you know, maybe start with something... uh, smaller. Yeah, like we can buy ourselves a plant and see how we go!"  
  
"We bought a plant already," the blonde woman replied. "But it died because I forgot to water it regularly, and take it out into the sun."  
  
"A pet, then?" Xander tentatively asked.  
  
Anya sighed, frustrated. "We had a goldfish once. You forgot to feed it, and it died too."  
  
"Oh," Xander simply replied, scratching his head.  
  
"We'll suck as parents!" Anya wailed suddenly. "And our kids will eventually go on Jerry Springer or something - and that's only if we remember to feed them when they're still little, when they cry!"  
  
"No, we won't. And they won't, honey," the construction worker hurried to comfort the woman. "Maybe we're just not plant and fish people, ya know? But I'm sure you'll be a wonderful mom, and that our kids won't want us to appear on national TV that way."  
  
Anya snorted. "You're only saying that because you're thinking Jerry Springer will be too old to be fashionable by then."  
  
Xander looked at her and paused before saying, "Every time I remember the summer when Buffy wasn't here for Dawn, I remember you being there and proving it to me. I think we'll make some mistakes and we'll have to adjust a bit at first, but I'm only saying that because I know you'll make a terrific mother."  
  
Anya stayed in silence for some seconds. "But I killed the plant," she sniffed belligerently.  
  
"You won't kill our child if you forget to put her in the sun, I promise," he replied, a smile on his lips.  
  
Anya pondered it all, for a long minute. "Wanna start making children now?"  
  
Xander took another extensive minute to let the matter revolve about in his own mind. "Ok," he nodded simply, and they started to kiss.  
  
~End of Flashback ~  
  
Xander felt his breath being cut short as the pain became his whole world, and he tottered to the bedroom with visible difficulty, barely managing to open a drawer and pull a needle from it.  
  
The dark-haired man adjusted the medicine and injected a shot into his belly; a region that looked bruised, and was dominated by a large circle with an unhealthy purple coloration.  
  
Xander felt his world fading away as the medicine started to take effect, as a sea of oblivion surrounded his mind.  
  
Nightmares of the past assaulted his dreams; and the unknown face of the man that had shaped his life into the worst of all possible nightmares, would twist into the shape of horrible demons in his dreams.  
  
***  
  
Review, please! 


	2. The Long Way Around

Title: The Observer  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.  
  
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.  
  
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.  
  
Summary: As his health decreases and every trace of the man he used to be seems to be just a shade of an abandoned life, Xander finds out that he has to deal once again with the pain and quarrel of his past. Post S3 and S6, B/A crossover.  
  
***  
  
Xander was carrying a grocery bag in his hands and was climbing up the stairs of the old building, which had become his new address.  
  
It had been almost two years now since the former carpenter had left his home town, and made the City of Angels his home.  
  
It had been and was still a difficult period in his life; Xander used to receive on a daily basis phone calls from Sunnydale, from people who cared about him. But given how rarely he actually picked up, the calls were in fact gradually becoming more and more infrequent.  
  
Buffy and Dawn had visited him here in Los Angeles four times since his departure, and Willow five; Spike had even been there with them, once or twice. Giles had also come once, from England.  
  
But during all the visits, Xander hadn't exactly been a friendly or gracious host at all.  
  
No one blamed him - but still the visits, as well as the phone calls, were becoming more and more uncommon. Xander's friends didn't know if the best option was, in fact, to give the man the time and space he wanted; nevertheless, they weren't given any other alternatives.  
  
The fact was, to Xander Harris, their presence was obviously harder to bear than their absence.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
"Are you here to say you're sorry for what's happened, and that you wish I'd talk to someone about it? 'Cause I've been receiving a lot of that lately," Xander said bitterly, not looking at the eyes of the girl standing on the other side of the room.  
  
The brunette stayed in silence for no longer than a couple of seconds. "No, I'm not, actually," she answered quietly, her hazel eyes directed at his brown ones, still reluctant to admit anything more.  
  
The young woman waited for Xander to say something; but due to his apathetic silence, she realized she'd not be receiving any kind of cooperation from his side.  
  
So the brunette started to unpack one of the two grocery bags onto the kitchen's counter, and eyed him with a twitch of her nose.  
  
"You do like tuna, right? 'Cause I brought you one divine tuna sandwich. Two layers of stuffing and, listen, 'cause this is the best part: they actually put a slice of bread soaked with milk in the middle, which makes it the best sandwich in town!" the girl finished up with a proud smile.  
  
One that rapidly died on her lips, as Xander didn't react at all.  
  
"Well, anyway, the best sandwich you can buy for two dollars that won't send you straight to the hospital with a case of food-poisoning," she chuckled a little forcedly, not willing to give up so soon. Not this soon.  
  
Xander, inevitably startled by the unforeseen noise of the doorbell ringing, heard her when the girl said in a singsong tone, "Ah, that must be the pizza!"  
  
A skinny youth with a uniform containing white and red vertical stripes, and a matching hat, stood in the hall of the apartment with a large box. A little clumsily, he announced, "Uh, that'll be $14.95, ma'am."  
  
The brunette girl opened the box and cringed. "That's not the pizza I ordered; I'm allergic to pepperoni!" she sniffed in an exaggerated whiny voice.  
  
"Oh, shoot," the slim boy cursed, scratching his head nervously. "Look, please, you've gotta take it, otherwise my boss will kill me!"  
  
The young woman whined one more time before, and sent her best puppy-dog look to the uniformed kid. She then said, "OK, I think I can scrape the stuff off... but, I mean, it wouldn't be fair to pay the whole price for something I never even asked for, right?" in a suggesting voice.  
  
"I, I'll give you a 50% discount!" the boy cried out suddenly.  
  
"Done!" the brunette chimed in with a big grin, grabbing the box, giving the delivery boy the money and closing the door in his face.  
  
"Allergic to pepperoni?" Xander cocked an eyebrow suspiciously with slight sarcasm, a thin grin appearing on his lips for the first time that night.  
  
The brunette grinned enigmatically. "It works like a charm, every time."  
  
"Ah, right, who cares about integrity if you can extort discounts from a hard-working, innocent kid with a big fat lie?" the dark-haired guy teased his female companion.  
  
"Hey! In my defense, the last fry cook at that place was an icky monster who tried to eat my brain last month," the girl rationalized her actions matter-of-factly. "And, besides, he sneezed on my pizza once!"  
  
"Well, then I guess it's fair," the guy agreed with a slight mumble.  
  
The tall girl smiled inwardly at seeing Xander's face light up with a small grin, but soon his smile faded away and the former construction worker went back to his zombie-like state.  
  
"You do like pepperoni pizza, right?" she forced out conversation, crouching to search for plates, knives and forks to serve themselves the pizza. Momentarily astounded to find out there was only a single item of each utensil, the brunette decided to just shrug it off.  
  
"Ah, actually, I'm not really hungry, Cordy," Xander said in a rather absent-minded manner, all energy seeming to have left him.  
  
"Oh c'mon! You're Xander Harris, you're always hungry," Cordelia Chase tried to joke, but it just didn't sound natural.  
  
Because, deep inside, the girl felt a deep pang of sorrow slowly forming in her belly; and unshed tears were threatening to stain her soft skin.  
  
"I think it's better if you leave now," the dark-haired guy said suddenly, his voice a monotone and his eyes seemingly devoid of any trace of life.  
  
Cordelia, eyes blurry with tears, tensely smiled an almost imperceptible smile - but to an outsider, she could've looked just about at the edge of a breakdown.  
  
"I'm not gonna stand by and watch while a friend tries to starve himself," the brunette chuckled in a farfetched manner, between soft sobs. "Kate Moss' diets are really not that manly, ya know?"  
  
The woman absent-mindedly reached for his shoulder with a gentle touch of her hand, but Xander quickly and slightly aggressively retreated into the living room.  
  
A little more desperate now, Cordelia followed him. The former cheerleader insisted, firmly but somehow seeming very close to losing it, "Please, Xander! You can't keep on going like this; oh, hell, you don't have to go through this alone! Please, let me in - let someone in..."  
  
The former Slayerette's glance remained downcast, and his reaction was totally unresponsive; Xander just repeated, in a low voice this time, words accented with an uncontrolled throb of despair. "I think it'd better if you just leave. Please Cordelia, just go."  
  
"I won't," she whispered firmly, tears freely rolling down her face now. "I won't just watch while you kill yourself slowly, Xander Harris; no can do here. You're not well, you're not frickin' fine or whatever bull you try to make everyone believe. Because quite honestly, you look like crap."  
  
The dark-haired guy moved his spiritless, tearless brown eyes to her blurry, troubled hazel ones. "Tact Girl now and forever, huh?" Xander joked bitterly.  
  
"You don't understand," the dark-haired guy followed up in a whisper, almost coyly.  
  
"What? What don't I understand, Xander? Please, tell me," Cordelia replied desperately.  
  
After some prolonged seconds of silence, the guy muttered the words, "It's harder. To be with you, all of you, it just makes everything harder..."  
  
Cordelia stared at him, shocked, hurt, conflicted. But, in the middle of the whirlwind of feelings blasting inside her full-force, standing out above all others, there was also the painful comprehension of his words' meaning.  
  
Xander stood there, a haunted and blank expression on his face; his glance, once again, was diverted from Cordelia's. "Mostly, the memories are just a random selection of things, y'know? Like if I'm with Willow, I remember the stupid fights they used to have in the past. And God, they were so irritating," he remembered with a nostalgic shake of his head.  
  
"If it's Dawn, I remember the days she'd sit with her and try to help with the homework - did you know the kid's teacher didn't accept Dawn's controversial ideas of Santa Claus's true origins? Yeah, she got really pissed off with Sunnydale High's academic staff..." the young man chuckled, his words now seeming slightly disoriented.  
  
"Xander," Cordelia didn't even notice the soft and pained whisper leaving her lips.  
  
"It's just too much, ya know? I, I just can't. Please, you have to leave me alone. All of you," Xander muttered at last, staring deeply into her eyes just for a second - and for that moment, the brunette girl saw a spark of desperation in that usually blank look.  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
***  
  
Please, review! 


	3. His Burn

Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.  
  
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.  
  
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.  
  
Summary: As his health decreases and every trace of the man he used to be seems to be just a shade of an abandoned life, Xander finds out that he has to deal once again with the pain and quarrel of his past. Post S6 and S3, B/A crossover.  
  
***  
  
Yellow police tape with the legend [Crime Scene: Do Not Cross] written on it were obstructing the outside of the apartment that was located two floors below his own. A couple of policemen were guarding the door, as two detectives were apparently taking down details in a notebook.  
  
The older one of them was a medium-sized man that weighed quite a few pounds and had gray-colored hair; he was wearing a reddish-brown suit and a slightly loose tie, with black leather shoes.  
  
Detective William Sheppard stepped in Xander's way with a certain hostile attitude, a sarcastic smirk playing on his lips. "Wanna help, or are you just gonna look?"  
  
"Actually, I just live here," Xander retorted dully, more than a little annoyed. He took out his wallet, and showed the police officer his identity.  
  
William's smirk disappeared. "Do you know the woman that resided here?"  
  
The dark-haired guy took a brief glance at the apartment, and the several policemen inside; they were a group at least of six men, from Xander's fleeting sideways glance.  
  
"Is she dead?" he inquired, his eyes still deflected to the crime scene's direction.  
  
"Nobody said anything about homicide," Sheppard replied a little smart- assedly, with an unemotional grin twisting just slightly the corners of his mouth.  
  
"Yeah, well, the yellow tape? The dozen cops - who'll ruin the crime scene before forensics get here, by the way? Doesn't seem like a case of loud music to me," the former construction worker remarked sarcastically.  
  
William Sheppard chuckled dryly, and took a card out of his pocket. "Here, call me if you happen to find out anything useful, would ya?"  
  
Xander accepted the card, eyeing it rapidly and putting on his pocket. "I will," he said, continuing his way to his upstairs apartment without looking back at the older man.  
  
Sheppard eyed him suspiciously as Xander climbed up the stairs, and then the detective was once more dragged into a conversation about the crime scene with the other police officer.  
  
***  
  
Xander closed the door, and tossed the apartment's keys onto the small table inattentively; the dark-colored wooden board was in the shape of a rectangle, and its small size was obviously meant for only a single person to utilize.  
  
The former Slayerette walked into the kitchen and took a can of Coke out of the fridge, opening its metallic ring and taking a sip of the drink.  
  
Xander closed his eyes tight for a moment, and opening the sink's tap he splashed the flowing water on his face.  
  
The Coke was forgotten on the kitchen's counter practically intact while the guy re-entered the living room, a pile of unopened correspondence catching his attention. Xander grabbed the pile and sat back on the couch, turning on the TV.  
  
Nothing especially interesting was on, so he finally ended up settling on a rerun of some old do-it-yourself cooking show.  
  
The dark-haired man wasn't actually paying attention at all to the show being hosted by a bald and elegant man with a strong Latin accent and a slender, odd-looking moustache; his attention, as a matter of fact, was being focussed on something different than grilled chicken with cinnamon sauce.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
Xander came through the front door, and moved towards Anya. At the other end of the room, the former demoness stood up, sleepy in her pajamas and seemingly startled and confused by her boyfriend's sudden entrance.  
  
In an urgent and heartfelt voice, the dark-haired guy started to speak, soft brown eyes fixed on her hazel ones. "I need to say something to you. I should have said it a long time ago. I mean, you may not even know..."  
  
Xander continued, in a mix of despair and passion, "I love you, Anya, more every day. I love the way you see things. I love the way you work a cash register, and how beautiful you are - and how amazingly sweet and crazy you can be at the same time..."  
  
By her side, the young man took her face in his hands, while Anya cried joyful tears.  
  
"I can't imagine my life without you - and I wouldn't want to," Xander whispered adoringly, leaning in to kiss Anya deeply and passionately.  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
"No, no, don't!" Xander cried out in an agonizing explosion, violently tossing the correspondence in his hand to the floor.  
  
The dark-haired man rushed to the bathroom and threw up. Brushing his mouth, Xander slowly got to his feet and took three pills from a bottle.  
  
And the only witness of his sorrow was his own reflection, staring back at him in the bathroom mirror with eyes filled by guilt and revulsion.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
The fleeting seconds that Xander stood still, blankly looking at the immobile woman tied up in the chair, seemed the longest of his life; the fear, a breath-taking one, instantly paralyzing him to that very spot.  
  
However, her small, scared voice quickly made him snap out of his trance.  
  
"Xander?!" the woman cried, and then continued with a stronger but no less shaky voice, "Xander? Xander, is that you?"  
  
The Slayerette hurried to her side, untying the blonde woman's wrists and ankles. "It's me, honey, everything's gonna be okay, it's me," he reassured her, allowing a small smile of relief to appear on his lips as he whispered once more, passing a gentle handle through her blond locks of hair, "Everything's gonna be okay..."  
  
Still half-tied, Anya sobbed into her husband's chest. "Please..."  
  
Xander heard a noise and asked in an alarmed voice, "Is he still here?"  
  
"No. Xander, stay with me," the former demoness pleaded, looking into his eyes. "Please, stay with me..."  
  
"I'm gonna end this whole thing right now!" the enraged guy almost snarled, running in the direction of a movement seen out of the corner of his eye; it was the man somehow climbing down to the street, through the apartment's windows.  
  
"No more of your frickin' games, do ya hear me, you sick bastard?! No more!" the carpenter kept on screaming, while frenetically pursuing the stranger along Sunnydale's streets.  
  
But what Xander didn't notice while leaving the apartment in his frenzied chase was that there were several red candles lying the floor, and one of them had been lit... and the fire started to vigorously consume the curtains, the flames quickly multiplying across the entire living area of the urban residence.  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
Xander woke up two hours later, to find himself passed out on the living room floor.  
  
Groaning while standing up, the guy said to himself while a little dazed, "Did somebody get the number plate of the truck that just hit me?"  
  
As the headache's power seemed to intensify strenuously while he got up, the former carpenter muttered crustily, "OK, obviously that was damn well more than just a truck..."  
  
However, these unanticipated spasms had become routine now in Xander's new life; there was simply no reason to regard what had happened with any special concern.  
  
The dark-haired man rubbed his temples and just shrugged it off, with a final groan.  
  
Something then caught his attention, and Xander bent down to pick up one of the letters he had carelessly tossed away last night; it was a white envelope, and it had written an 'Urgent' sign on its top.  
  
Xander went to the kitchen with the envelope in his hands, and grabbed a carton of milk; he hadn't actually eaten since the previous afternoon, and the first rays of sunlight already shone in Los Angeles now.  
  
Drinking the milk directly from the carton on his way from the kitchen to the living room once more, the young man started to clean up last night's mess from the floor and toss it neglectfully on the couch.  
  
The former Slayerette then sat at the table and finished his milk, resting the empty box on the wooden surface. His eyes fell onto the envelope, and he opened it with a hint of curiosity.  
  
With a bitter grin, Xander gazed at the envelope's contents; inside it, there was a young woman's picture, with the date and hour of the photograph on its lower corner.  
  
It had been taken three days ago, at 9:03 p.m.  
  
And the young woman in the picture was his downstairs neighbor, a pretty red-haired woman that had been found dead only hours ago.  
  
***  
  
Should I continue this? Really, I get the feeling people are just hating it... 


	4. The Photograph

Title: The Observer  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.  
  
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.  
  
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.  
  
Summary: As his health decreases and every trace of the man he used to be seems to be just a shade of an abandoned life, Xander finds out that he has to deal once again with the pain and quarrel of his past. B/A crossover.  
  
***  
  
Jack Carter had graduated from the L.A. police academy nearly three years ago, and gotten a transfer to Homicide a couple of months previously. So, by all standards, he was still pretty much the new kid on the block; or rather the rookie, as his boss liked to refer to him as.  
  
The young bluesuit knocked on the door of his superior, and waited till he heard a "Come in," from the man inside.  
  
Jack opened the rusted knob and left it open partway, putting half of his body inside the room. "Chief, there's a guy here who wants to see you," he stated to the older man's annoyed look of expectance.  
  
"So? Get rid of him, I'm busy," William Sheppard, who was looking at some charts in his hand, replied without giving it a second thought - annoyed for being interrupted.  
  
"It's that guy you met in the murdered girl's building," the young police officer muttered pointedly.  
  
"Oh! OK, let him in," Sheppard replied with a wave of his hand, averting his eyes from the papers on the table.  
  
A tall, dark-haired guy that seemed to be in his mid-twenties entered the room a little while later, closing the door behind him. He eyed a card in his hand, the very same one given to him the previous night by the detective, and then turned his gaze back to the gray-haired cop.  
  
The former Slayerette said, in a composed but slightly tense voice, "Uh, hi, my name's Alexander Harris, I'm-"  
  
"Harris, right - that former FBI collaborator," the 46-year-old man cut him off with what wasn't a question, but a statement.  
  
His voice was husky and secure, and the detective had a certain smug smirk on his slightly aged face when he elucidated, "I checked up on you, hope you don't mind."  
  
"Don't think I'd have any other choice," the younger man retorted, a hint of sarcasm accenting his words.  
  
In his office, the gray-haired detective chuckled with some amusement. Either the kid seriously pissed him off, or he just liked the boy; Sheppard hadn't made up his mind about the matter yet. "You're right, you wouldn't."  
  
William added without delay, "You're originally from Sunnydale, right? Don't even know why they keep a police department there. Nothing ever seems to happen..."  
  
"Well, ya got me," the younger man replied, after a biting chuckle. Xander changed the subject with his next sentence, saying with a skeptical tone while tossing an envelope onto the detective's desk, "I received something yesterday. Thought it might interest you."  
  
Sheppard looked up at him questioningly, in a meaningful silence.  
  
"Seems they've gotten you entirely up to speed about my background, huh?" Xander's mouth twisted into a bitter, almost non-existent grin.  
  
At William's somewhat startled or ashamed glance, the younger guy seemed amused, while letting his eyes travel along the detective's office. Xander mumbled casually, "Was I some kind of suspect or something?"  
  
"You know the procedure, we've got to consider all the possibilities," Sheppard smirked cockily, and eyed the tossed envelope with a sharp look.  
  
"It's the girl who was murdered," Xander confirmed his suspicions. "It's dated from yesterday, but the picture was taken about three days ago."  
  
The gray-haired man opened the envelope with the utmost care, taking the picture out of its paper-y container. Analyzing the picture and thus not staring at Xander, Detective William Sheppard asked randomly, "Do you always take this long to open your mail?"  
  
The dark-haired man shrugged. "Sometimes a day, sometimes a week."  
  
"Marla Sheen, 25 years old, mostly a loner," the police officer absent- mindedly voiced his recollected knowledge about the victim. "So you think it's the same guy?" William then inquired.  
  
"She was strangled with a piano string, like all the other victims," Xander replied pointedly, with a hint of tartness in his voice.  
  
"But we haven't heard from him in more than a year now," the older man rationalized prudently.  
  
The dark-haired guy snorted, with a bitter grin of incredulity - he seemed a little more agitated too. "Oh, for God's sake, of course it's him - her characteristics match perfectly with the others. And she lived in my freakin' building, remember?!"  
  
Sheppard sighed. "You're probably right. I'll make a call to the agent in charge of that case and let him know. He's probably gonna want to make it here today..."  
  
The gray-haired man opened the office's door and yelled, "Hey, rookie, get in here!"  
  
Jack quickly appeared, stopping in front of William. "I need you to get a telephone number from the archives. Special Agent Anthony Phillips, Washington D.C. Violent Crimes section."  
  
"You got it, chief," the young cop replied promptly, leaving the office and returning some minutes later, handing him the number.  
  
During those fleeting instants while the detective was occupied with dialing the FBI agent's number, Xander's mind was recollecting his past once again.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
"Hey, Tony Boy - I think I've got something over here!" Xander yelled to the man in the other side of the large room, who came running in his direction.  
  
"Call me that again, and I'll have to shoot you," the 29-year-old man joked, but the grin died on his lips as he glanced to where Xander was pointing.  
  
"Holy shit," Phillips mumbled in awe.  
  
A blonde woman ran to the spot too, reaching the two men a couple of seconds later. "Okay - this is definitely icky material," Buffy Summers said, her face frowning in a mix of disgust and amazement.  
  
Xander silently looked back at Buffy, and then at Anthony; then he crouched and eyed closely the object responsible for their amazed reactions.  
  
The doll was just about a foot tall, and her porcelain face was painted and marked with something that looked like blood. Her fake silky hair had been accurately dyed, and was combed in a way to purposely look like the last victim's hairstyle fashion.  
  
Jennifer Gallagher, 22 years old; with long, straight brunette hair that reached down to the middle of her back - and like the previous four New Yorker and two Sunnydaler victims, a lonely girl, who had just recently moved to the small Californian town.  
  
There was a little scarlet envelope attached to the doll by a silk string. Xander looked over his shoulder, to once more exchange silent glances with the two other persons on site.  
  
The Slayer and the Special Agent looked at Xander with expressions that were silently telling him to go on, and so the dark-haired carpenter did. He opened the small envelope with great gentleness; and noticed with an inevitable chill, that as with the other cards, two words were written on it: [To Xander].  
  
The glorified bricklayer and current FBI collaborator took a rectangular card out of the envelope and found, just like with the previous cards, the serial killer's pseudonym autograph.  
  
Turning over the front of the card, in a stylized font, there was a sentence - a sentence that immediately made Xander feel the blood freezing in his veins.  
  
[This one was for you, pal.]  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
Detective Sheppard's husky voice brought Xander back to reality. "It's most likely they'll want to talk to you - according to what I've read about this case, and if what we've got here is in fact the same assassin, the odds are he'll probably keep trying to get in contact with you sooner or later."  
  
Before any reply could come from Xander, Sheppard's call at last made the connection with its destination in Washington.  
  
***  
  
OK, I swear it'll start to make sense soon... But please, review me - I really need the motivation here... And by the way, thanks for all the previous reviews! You guys rocks! 


	5. Zeppo No More

Title: The Observer  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.  
  
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.  
  
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.  
  
Summary: As his health decreases and every trace of the man he used to be seems to be just a shade of an abandoned life, Xander finds out that he has to deal once again with the pain and quarrel of his past. B/A crossover.  
  
***  
  
"Detective William Sheppard, LAPD Homicide; yeah, I'd like to talk to Special Agent Anthony Phillips, Violent Crimes. Yes, it's important. No, I can't wait! Listen to me, dummy, just put Phillips on the damn phone right now!"  
  
"Stuffy assholes," the detective mumbled in Xander's direction as his momentary silence seemed to indicate victory in the telephone war, and the former carpenter knew Anthony Phillips would probably pick up the phone soon.  
  
Hearing only slightly the conversation, a part of Xander's mind was still oblivious to the real world.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
The teenage Xander Harris walked away from a hostile Jack O'Toole, grabbing the football and tossing it back to the boys named Doug and Les as he passed Cordelia Chase.  
  
"Boy, of all the humiliations you've had I've witnessed, that was the latest," Queen C commented, with an expression of amusement.  
  
"I coulda taken him," the dark-haired teen tried to win his ex-girlfriend over with regards to his ability to fight Jack O'Toole.  
  
Cordelia didn't seem persuaded at all. "Oh, please. O'Toole would macramé your face. He is a psycho. Which is still a lot cooler than being a wuss..."  
  
"Why is it that I've come face-to-face with vampires, demons, the most hideous creatures Hell ever spit out, and I'm still afraid of a little bully like Jack O'Toole?" Xander wondered out loud.  
  
"Because, unlike all those creatures that you've come face-to-face with, Jack actually noticed you were there," the brunette girl sneered.  
  
The boy glanced at her. "Why am I not surprised by how comforting you're not?"  
  
Cordelia ignored him. "It must be really hard when all your friends have, like, superpowers - Slayer, werewolf, witches, vampires - and you're, like, this little nothing. You must feel like Jimmy Olsen."  
  
"I was just talking to-" Xander began laughingly, but whined as the meaning of her words hit him. "Hey! Mind your own business!"  
  
The brunette smirked in triumph. "Ohh, I struck a nerve. The Boy Who Had No Cool."  
  
"I happen to be an integral part of that group. I happen to have a lot to offer," the dark-haired youth replied, with a hint of hurt in his voice.  
  
"Oh, please," Queen C scoffed, unconvinced.  
  
"I do!" the boy hurriedly defended himself.  
  
"Integral part of the group? Xander. You're the, the useless part of the group. You're the Zeppo," Cordy pondered.  
  
Xander wished he had a comeback to that one, but none came to mind.  
  
"Cool. Look it up. It's something," the brunette teen said, indicating Jack, "that a subliterate that's repeated twelfth grade three times has, and you don't."  
  
Cordelia turned on her heel, saying to herself as her former boyfriend receded in the distance, "There was no part of that that wasn't fun."  
  
Left behind, Xander stood there for a moment, looking pretty glum.  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
"Phillips is flying here tonight," Sheppard's voice once again made Xander come back to reality.  
  
"We still have to decide if we'll let the press in on this one yet, but until then, I don't think I need to tell you to keep your mouth shut," the gray-haired detective advised him sharply.  
  
Xander, seemingly not intimidated by his attitude or tone of voice, just nodded slowly.  
  
Turning to walk out, the former Slayerette heard the older man's curious voice call to him one more time, "So, what are you gonna do now, Harris? I mean, with the guy back in town and all..."  
  
Xander just left the room and closed the door, ignoring the detective 's question.  
  
Outside Detective William Sheppard's office, the department was noisy and tumultuous. Several bluesuits or lamely dressed, investigator-like men walked throughout the precinct with busy expressions, forming the typical ambience found in every big city's police station.  
  
A young woman who couldn't be a day older than twenty-five accidentally bumped against him, muttering a "Sorry," with an apologetic smile and leaving.  
  
Kathryn Parker, a young, recently-graduated cop, was about five and a half feet tall and owner of a petite yet well-shaped body. Her hair was medium- sized, slightly curled and of a blonde coloration.  
  
And she automatically reminded Xander of a certain girl that had once been one of the two most important persons in his life, along with his red- haired best childhood friend.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
The pre-dawn light was gradually sweeping away genuine blackness from the sky, creating a more neutral color, painted with hints of gray and blue.  
  
The Special Agent's car started its animalistic roar and fled along Sunnydale's still asleep streets; Jennifer Gallagher's investigation would only return in a few hours ahead to them. With an FBI team arriving at the latest victim's apartment, they finally called it a night.  
  
Buffy and Xander were walking side by side along Sunnydale's Main Street, which was now being lightened by the first glimpses of sun. The Slayer glanced sideways at her dark-haired friend, sensing the silent tension eating him up from the inside.  
  
"A penny for your thoughts," the Slayer suddenly broke the wordless walk, eyeing the man by her side.  
  
"Are my thoughts that cheap to you, Buff?" Xander joked, but he still seemed distracted somehow - a twinge of excitement and disquiet, as if something really was eating him up inside.  
  
"Not with the jobless Buffy outlook," the petite girl snorted with a sarcastic grin.  
  
"Doesn't the jobless Buffy have a very important interview tomorrow?" Xander asked, eyeing his shorter friend with a hint of worry.  
  
"She has," Buffy admitted, but sighed. "But I'm not sure she's prepared. I think she's more like utterly terrified by a mortifying fear of not being able to cover the next mortgage installment."  
  
"So she'll eat a fortifying breakfast, which is the most vital meal of the day, and impress her future Big Boss!" Xander encouraged.  
  
"When did you start going all Brady Bunch on me?" a pessimistic-looking Buffy teased.  
  
"Ah, cheer up, Buffster! I'm just feeling it's time that a lot of dead presidents are gonna invade la casa de Summers," the man tried to brighten up the Slayer, who groaned with mocking exasperation.  
  
"I guess the whole Chosen One thingy and well-paying jobs really aren't like a match made in heaven," Buffy said gloomily.  
  
"Things will get better, Buffy. They really will," Xander said, more seriously now.  
  
"I guess so," the petite Slayer nodded, with a small but heartfelt smile. "Which bring us back to the penny thing," she added, gazing at the construction worker pointedly.  
  
"And here I was thinking I'd made you forget about that," the current FBI collaborator admitted.  
  
Buffy nodded. "Nice try, but shoot."  
  
The carpenter sighed, and spoke after a few seconds of musing silence, "OK, first of all, and just for the record - this guy creeps me out, and I mean big time. And this directly from a resident of the Hellmouth, who has seen and been beaten up by a lot of evil creatures..."  
  
Xander continued, the sarcasm obvious, "I don't know why the heck this super-famous psycho nutsack decided it was fun engineering his bloodbaths and picking me as his Buddy Boy, in what I truly hope isn't prison language..."  
  
"But aside from all that?" Buffy inquired gently.  
  
Xander sighed again. "I guess it's that Super Agent Tony Boy has come into the picture and put me on his team... and not just 'cause this loony psycho has a fix on me, but because I have, and I quote, "a natural instinct for this sort of thing". I mean, who'd a-thunk it? Xander 'the Zeppo' Harris? The eternal powerless klutz, as an official FBI collaborator? That's probably the biggest thing in life I'll ever amount to..."  
  
"I didn't know you still had those feelings," Buffy said, seeming a little ashamed by the meaning of her statement. "I mean you saved the world not that long ago, remember? That's pretty big."  
  
"I've screwed up more than I've ever done right," Xander retorted, attempting a mocking voice. "It's statistics, really. Y'know, math - that class we mostly slept through in high school? If you try ten times, you'll almost certainly succeed once. It's a question of probability; no big, and still makes me Mojoless Boy."  
  
More seriously, Xander added, "I don't know, Buff. I can't help thinking Willow was just too tired then. To fight what Giles had goosed her with anymore, I mean. It was just a case of being at the right place, at the right time."  
  
"But that's what heroes do - be there. The right time and place thing," Buffy rationalized stubbornly. "And it wasn't just once - it's been a lot more times. You've been there for the world a lot more than you give yourself credit for . Like, ever since the beginning, when I first came to town. And you still are. Here."  
  
She persisted in her heartfelt speech, "Every time I need you, you're there. And every time I say I don't need you but I do, you're there. And every time I think I don't need you but I do, you're there too."  
  
Xander stopped walking suddenly, and Buffy did too. He glanced at her.  
  
"Thanks," the carpenter said truthfully, smiling.  
  
"You're welcome," the blond-haired Slayer smiled too, and made with one of her perky grins. "Wanna do the touchy-feely hug thing?"  
  
"Would I ever say no to this kind of request from the Buffster?" Xander joked, and hugged his long-time friend in a heartfelt embrace.  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
The memories died in his mind as quickly and suddenly as they had come, and Xander Harris left the police building and headed home.  
  
The telephone was ringing when he entered his apartment. And when the dark- haired guy picked up, the sinister voice on the other end of the line greeted him with a cold, dispassionate voice.  
  
"Hello, pal. We finally meet again..."  
  
***  
  
Author's note: just a few things I think I should comment - this is not gonna end like the movie ended, and things will start to become clearer soon, I promiss! I'm not using the old material (Like O'Toole's scene) for no reason.  
  
OK, keep the reviews coming, pretty please... I really, really wanna know your opinions - flames (gulp), ego-widening messages, all of it, folks! 


	6. Amends

Title: The Observer  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.  
  
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.  
  
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.  
  
Summary: As his health decreases and every trace of the man he used to be seems to be just a shade of an abandoned life, Xander finds out that he has to deal once again with the pain and quarrel of his past. B/A crossover.  
  
***  
  
Xander just stood there for a second, the telephone absent-mindedly being held at his ear. Urges to either throw up, hit something so hard his hands would bleed or just shout as loud as his lungs would allow to started to build up inside him; his innards being invaded by a combination of shock, daze and tartness.  
  
As the cold voice echoed in his mind, again and again and again, the former carpenter felt like not being in the real world anymore, or finally returning to it - it was a strange, oddly familiar feeling that he couldn't quite make up his mind about.  
  
The stranger's voice wasn't sarcastic, but instead a even more chilly truth- speaking tone when he said, "Cat got your tongue, pal? I thought you'd have something to say, you know - it's not every day a guy leaves town without telling their friends. And after all we've been through? You just brush me off as if it meant nothing? That really hurt my feelings, Xander."  
  
Xander Harris came out of his trance and replied, his voice nonchalant yet filled with an undeniable hint of spite, "To be absolutely honest, I couldn't care less about your feelings. So let's just cut to the chase and you tell me whatever psycho crap you've got to say this time, so we can end this fast and clean, you crackpot."  
  
The dark-haired guy heard a sigh from the other side of the line. "I don't know why you keep trying to brush me off, Xander - hiding, sneaking off on me. That's just not considerate - I really thought you'd have understood by now."  
  
"Is that all the loony chitchat you've got for today? 'Cause I can gladly live without it," Xander sneered, trying to control the tenseness increasing inside him.  
  
The unknown man ignored that. "What did you think of the redhead? She was truly something, wasn't she?"  
  
"If you're not saying anything relevant, I'll hang up," the former Slayerette threatened the other man in a weary voice, tired of this endless game; his eyes absent-mindedly fixed on the blank TV.  
  
"Come on, you're no fun!" the stranger's voice cried out briskly.  
  
The Observer continued, in a lower, more somber voice, "I tried to move on, ya know? After you left, I thought about starting a new life - see the world, write a book, plant a tree or something. Just follow the frickin' manual, right? But it didn't work out so well... there was just no fire, no passion, y'know? So, I thought I could cut you some slack, and see if we can start making amends..."  
  
At the maniacal and heartfelt confession, Xander asked, more alarmed and careful yet maintaining the cold tone, knowing he'd have to play the psycho's game, "What are you trying to say?"  
  
After a draw-out silence and a slightly impatient sigh, the foreign voice spoke again, "I'll send you a picture of a girl, and I'm giving you the 9:00 p.m. deadline. You find her, you save her. You don't find her, I kill her."  
  
Startled by the insane plan, the dark-haired guy took a second to come around. "If I can't find her... then it's my fault she'll die," he repeated slowly.  
  
A chuckle, from the other end of the line. "I'm leaving the interpretations up to you, buddy. You call it as you see it." The voice continued in a impassioned tone, "We're gonna make it through, ya know? We're gonna save our friendship. I really believe we will, Xander."  
  
"You freakin' bastard," Xander simply whispered after a bitter and brief chuckle, distressed.  
  
Seemingly hurt, the unknown man exploded, "You know, I'm so goddamn tired of being the only one who gives a shit about us; you with your complaints, and bitching - that can be so exhausting to deal with sometimes! You just can't see it, can't you?"  
  
After a few seconds, the voice came back in a more collected and cold tone, "You've got until nine. Clock's ticking, Xander."  
  
"Wait, wait, when am I getting the picture?" the former Slayerette inquired frantically, knowing the conversation was soon to be ended by the stranger and trying to get as much information as possible.  
  
"You'll know," the simple reply came, followed by a 'click' on the phone.  
  
***  
  
Xander slowly put the phone back on its cradle, and just stood still for a moment.  
  
All of a sudden, the former carpenter just felt like he couldn't take it anymore and started to throw all the objects around him in a sudden beserker rage. He felt like a drowning victim that was slowly sinking deeper and deeper, aware of the fact the bottom of the sea was just getting more and more distant.  
  
The sound of a glassy cup falling hard on the floor and breaking into millions of little sharp pieces didn't seem to alarm Xander, nor did the shouts from the next door neighbor to knock it off.  
  
Managing to stagger forward, Xander entered his private chambers and fell, barely managing to support himself on the bed before falling to the floor. He tried to pull out the needle from his bureau drawer, but closed his eyes after realizing his failure.  
  
With his eyes half-open and, as the pain started to become his entire world and the images around him began to fade away into darkness, the dark-haired guy almost miraculously managed to drag himself into the living room once again. Xander then picked up the telephone that had been shoved away during his explosion.  
  
And as his fingers dialed a telephone number absent-mindedly, the only thought on Xander's mind was of that of an October night, about two years ago.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
The seconds were timeless, the practically impossible speed of his steps was incredible as the anger and distress finally came up as one, powerfully rising inside the current FBI collaborator and giving him an almost supernatural strength.  
  
He couldn't handle it anymore - the insane gifts, the cards, the overwhelming guilt. Even knowing he wasn't at fault by any standards, Xander couldn't shove away from his mind that feeling of overwhelming guilt.  
  
All the blood on the murdered girls' bodies; their empty, lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void; three lives brutally ruined in Sunnydale; all of this, in his name... no, it had to come to an end - all of this, it had to end and end now.  
  
After all he had gone through during these harsh seven years, there was just no way he'd let a psycho tear his life apart like this one minute longer.  
  
After a good five meters of running, Xander acknowledged the abrupt stop of the stranger on the other side of the street with one of his own, that almost made him lose his equilibrium.  
  
The stranger's face was hidden by the shadows of the darkened sky; and the roadway was the only separation between the two men. A few cars occasionally passed by, making Xander cover his eyes from the effulgent headlights.  
  
And that was when the ground quivered with a rocky strength and the powerful noise of the explosion echoed with incredible potency, the sound making Xander automatically turn to look for its origin.  
  
Finally realizing the noisy outburst was originated from the very same apartment complex where he had shared one of the most important parts of his life with his wife, Xander just felt like he'd never be able to move, or breathe ever again.  
  
"You know," the man on the other side of the roadway yelled, as the dark- haired guy barely registered, at the moment, the words that would be carved deeply into his soul for the rest of the life. "She was just getting between the two of us - she had to be taken out..."  
  
The current FBI collaborator looked slowly at the shadowy silhouette, still paralyzed as the significance of the happenings still seemed hazy to him.  
  
The voice, now, held a strong pang of rage and even amusement. "I gave you a chance, pal... but it was your choice to come after me - remember that, Xander! It was your choice!"  
  
The outburst of contradictory feelings hit the dark-haired guy so strongly and abruptly that, for a second, Xander really felt he'd collapse. However, the denial overwhelmed any other sentiment of guilt, pain, exhaustion, lost or hatred, and gave him enough strength to turn around and start running like the barrier of time and space didn't exist anymore.  
  
The only thing Xander knew right then was that he had to be there, he had to save her, he knew there was still time - there had to be, it was just as simple as that.  
  
In his lively run, the only sound that filled Xander's mind was the blazing one of the fire consuming the building.  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
His world was filled by the endless recollections of that night, when his body finally gave in to oblivion and nightmares overtook his dreams; the telephone was at his side, as a voice echoed from the other end of line, unaware of the scene taking place at the apartment.  
  
"Hello? Hello? Is anybody there?"  
  
***  
  
It was only her second week on the job and Cathy was already bored out of her mind, absent-mindedly playing with a lock of hair.  
  
Cathy was twenty-five, and the owner of gracious, refreshing intelligence. She was almost six feet tall and her hair, short and blond, was held up by a stylish plastic strip. Her eyes, a dark hazel, were hidden behind a set of heavy spectacles, outlined by black frames.  
  
The truth was, there was nothing really special about her. She was just an ordinary girl, with no characteristics that'd especially distinguish her - in a crowd, she'd pass by unnoticed.  
  
Gaining momentum with her feet, the pretty young blonde made the store's chair, which had wheels underneath, roll in a semi-circle. The girl moved along with the furniture, her feet stroking the floor.  
  
Suddenly, in the middle of a drawn-out yawn, the young woman's sideways glance saw a customer entering the store, and she clumsily composed herself to stand up, quickly shoving a loose lock of blond hair behind her ear.  
  
The client had the appearance of a healthy guy, in good shape. His physique was well defined and he had a silky, straight hair, whose longish locks were a brown color. His skin was slightly pale, and his eyes were a captivating green, with hints of gray and blue, the variation seen by the occasional illumination.  
  
Dusting her jeans overalls with her hands, Cathy gave the young man an apologetic smile, and said, "Sorry, I was a little spaced out."  
  
The man returned her apology with a soft chuckle. "That's not a problem at all."  
  
Cathy smiled again, and raised her two eyebrows in expectance with a tilt of her head. "So... how can I help you, sir?"  
  
"Oh no, please, no sir. Just call me Jay," he retorted with a smile and, for a second, locking eyes with hers.  
  
Cathy, a little taken aback by the young man's enchanting look, offered him a charming smile of her own. "OK then, Jay," she emphasized teasingly the last word. "What can I do for ya?"  
  
He looked down, and Cathy leaned on the counter slightly to eye what was hidden in his hands - finding a photographic camera. "Actually, I was looking for some film for my camera."  
  
"Yup, here - this'll do you right," the blond-girl turned to the shelves behind her and picked up the little box with the desired contents, handing it to him. "That's really the best film on the market."  
  
The handsome young man put the film into the camera, and pointed it in her direction.  
  
Cathy's cheeks suddenly blushed and her hazel eyes traveled aimlessly around the room for a moment, showing her nervousness. "Whatcha doing?" she inquired with a coy grin.  
  
Jay looked up at her and answered nonchalantly, "Oh, I'm just testing it, I hope you don't mind."  
  
Cathy seemed to relax, and risked a smile into the camera, grimacing a little when the sudden flash blinded her eyes for a fleeting instant.  
  
And as the flashes went off again and again, Cathy eventually eased up and became more and more comfortable, striking a new pose at every new photograph taken.  
  
"Is this good?" she mocked a seductive look, and chuckled, sticking her tongue out at the next flash of light.  
  
A smirk flashing across his lips, the man quickly looked up from the camera and grinned. "That's just perfect."  
  
***  
  
R/R! 


	7. Ghosts

Title: The Observer Author: Jane McCartney Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.  
  
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics. Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Observer", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way. Summary: After a tragedy hits home for Xander, he moves to Los Angeles and becomes a shadow of his old self, shoving his friends away in his new life. Two years later, the pain and quarrel of his past is back to catch up with him. (BtVS/AtS crossover)  
  
***  
  
Outlines of forms and shapes gradually became clear again to Xander, as the darkness started to fade away to once again give him the ability to distinguish his surroundings.  
  
When the dark-haired guy tried to get up, he became aware of a hand stopping him in the process. At the same time, his mind registered he was on the bed, which meant someone had picked him up from the floor, where the former construction worker remembered being before passing out.  
  
"Easy, easy," a soft voice advised softly, and Xander obeyed by immediately collapsing backwards, finally coming to a prone position on the bed.  
  
The young man cleared his sore throat and stated, looking at the brunette for the first time, "Cordelia."  
  
"Hey there, Xand," the brunette girl flashed a tender smile at him.  
  
"How did you..." the slightly confused guy recomposed himself and continued, glancing at her more somberly, "How did you know it was me? I don't remember succeeding in completing that phone call..."  
  
"My phone's got callback tracking," the brunette answered with a hint of excitement. "I mean, I love pretending I'm not there, if someone annoying calls me. It's actually kinda neat."  
  
"Sounds like it," Xander replied with a small grin, absent-mindedly.  
  
Cordelia's expression softened. "You seem to be in pretty bad shape, pal. I made you some strong black coffee. Here," she said gently, handing him the mug.  
  
Xander accepted it, but mostly because he felt bad at the thought of declining her charity - as Cordelia's non-coffee-making skills were legendary. "Thanks," the former Slayerette muttered, trying to be grateful.  
  
While the guy took a sip from the mug, the brunette woman was eyeing him out of the corner of her eye, seemingly worried.  
  
"I'm OK, Cordy," Xander stated rigidly without looking at her, noticing her actions.  
  
"Yeah, right," she smirked sadly, glancing to the floor and then at him meaningfully, with a hint of irony. "And I was, like, Mother Theresa to you during high school."  
  
"I don't think the Catholic Church would be too pleased to know what we used to get up to in the utility closet then," the former carpenter mumbled jokingly, but his former girlfriend only stared seriously at him.  
  
"Please, tell me this is not you nowadays. Please tell me that what I saw today isn't, like, customary?" Cordelia asked with a slight cringe, even when a painful twinge in her heart already knew the answer to that question.  
  
The brunette woman shivered at the memories of entering the apartment, and finding the living room to be a complete mess; the dark-haired man collapsed near the bureau drawer, which had on its surface some bottles containing pills. With one of the bottles on the floor, and a few pills spread out in front of it.  
  
The bureau drawer, half-open, revealed to contain a package of empty needles and liquid medicine by its side.  
  
"It's not what you think; it's not like I'm a junkie or something. That stuff is all on prescription, you know," Xander said slowly, noticing the girl's hazel eyes staring at the furniture.  
  
Cordelia bit her lip to stop wincing, and her voice was considerably more frantic when she snapped, "Then you really need all this stuff? 'Cause, gee, I think you've just made me feel a world of relief now, Xander!" the girl scowled sarcastically at the last sentence.  
  
"Cordelia, I don't have time for this," the former Slayerette spoke quietly, defensively.  
  
The young woman closed her eyes tightly, to repress the tangle of emotions building up inside her.  
  
However, the battle proved itself futile. In a voice barely controlled at first, and which gradually increased its passionate and distressed tone, Cordelia said, "I got a call from Willow last month. And she told me the last time you returned any of her calls, it was almost seven months ago - seven months, Xander! What are you, going Busy Boy on us now? That's so selfish, ya know - we've all been through stuff! And you don't even care if your friends are suffering now with you shoving them away?"  
  
For a fleeting instant, her words brought up the remembrance of a party and a discussion that had taken place a long time ago. A time when Buffy had returned home after staying for the whole summer in Los Angeles, leaving her friends and family clueless as to whether she was dead or alive, all right or not.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
The hurt and anger of his blond-haired friend's intended secret departure came all at once when Xander exploded, "Maybe you don't want to hear it, Buffy. But taking off like that was selfish and stupid-"  
  
Buffy, on the verge of a breakdown, cut him off by saying, "Okay - I screwed up! I know it - all right?! But you have no idea. You have no idea what happened to me, or what I was feeling-"  
  
Now it was the dark-haired teen's turn to tell the Slayer off, "Did you even try talking to anybody?"  
  
"What's the point? There was nothing anyone could do. I just had to deal on my own," Buffy retorted persistently.  
  
Xander's voice held a hint of sarcasm when he said, "And you see how well that went. You can't just bury stuff, Buffy! It'll come right back up to get you..."  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
Quickly shrugging away the sudden memories, Xander pulled himself out of the bed and walked away. But Cordelia followed him out of the room.  
  
The former Slayerette sent a brief glance towards the living room, noticing some of the mess had been cleaned up and the tossed objects were now carefully arranged on the table.  
  
"Why did you call me, Xander? After so much time - why today, why now?" Cordelia's voice spoke behind him.  
  
The dark-haired guy, who had his back to her at that moment, turned to stare at the girl. "I didn't know how long I'd be out, and I couldn't risk waiting; I thought maybe I'd need... maybe I'd need someone's help," he uttered, prudently.  
  
"Help to do what?" Cordelia asked, slightly raising her eyebrows.  
  
For a second, Xander looked inwardly - divided in heart, about either telling her the truth or not. And the truth was telling her that when he'd called, he knew he couldn't risk the chance of blacking out without making contact with Special Agent Anthony Phillips as soon as possible, and filling him in about the newest insane plan of the serial killer.  
  
In the end, the former Slayerette decided to go for the first option.  
  
"I had to call someone. Like I said, I couldn't risk waiting; it might have been too late then," Xander repeated carefully, but seemingly a bit jumbled.  
  
A cocked, inquisitive eyebrow. "Does this someone have a name, or are you gonna try the Keeping-In-The-Dark-The-Girl-I-Just-Woke-Up routine again?"  
  
"It wasn't even five o'clock when I called you," the guy said suspiciously.  
  
"You try living with a vampire in an abandoned hotel for four years, and see how well you can readjust to normal hours," she smiled a soft, perky smile.  
  
Xander replied with a brief grin, but it died rapidly on his lips. "It's Anthony Phillips."  
  
The brunette woman's face frowned for an instant, as if she was trying to recollect who this was from her memories. "Wait, isn't Anthony Phillips like the name of that FBI agent?"  
  
Her eyes widened, as the meaning of the words echoed in her mind, "Why would you need...?"  
  
"To call him?" Xander finished for her softly, his dark eyes downcast for a fleeting moment.  
  
Raising his head with a sigh, Xander's gaze seemed to try to avoid direct contact with hers. "A girl was murdered last night, two floors below me." His voice was firm and emotionless when the former carpenter continued, "She was strangled with a piano string."  
  
"Oh my God," Cordelia blurted out, and her feet staggered, her hands reaching to find the chair near the table.  
  
She sat down a little shakily, and eyed her former boyfriend apprehensively. "Does this mean...?"  
  
"That he's back? Pretty much, yeah," Xander confirmed the girl's fears, seemingly a bit too nonchalant, walking to the other side of the room.  
  
Cordelia took some seconds to absorb the information, her expression showing great conflict when she glanced at him again. "We can fight him this time," the brunette said resolutely.  
  
"You know that's not how it works with him, Cor. Nope, his game, his rules; he knows what we know, and he's not gonna leave any actual clues behind; he's too careful to do that," the dark-haired guy replied slightly impatiently, shaking his head.  
  
Cordelia stood up, now looking extremely agitated. "To hell with all that! So he has some magical mojo working to protect his lame ass; I say, big deal! We'll find someone stronger than he is to break it, and we'll catch him!"  
  
The former Slayerette was getting agitated too. "Gee, you know, I don't think we've ever actually tried that approach! Thanks for the advice, Cordelia, I'm sure it'll be very helpful," his tone was sarcastic, as was the fleeting smirk he sent her.  
  
"Cut the sarcasm, Xander - it doesn't suit you. And you know I wear it better than you ever did," the girl hissed as a rebuttal, her hazel eyes showing a pang of hurt.  
  
Xander sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, I know it's not fair to you since I was the one who called for your help," the dark-haired guy said, after a long moment of silence. "But I don't wanna discuss it. I don't want you to ask me if I'm OK. I just... I can't deal with that right now, ya know? Not right now."  
  
The confession's words were difficult, raw and low; Xander looked fragile, an exception to the cold mask he had been wearing during the last few minutes. The brunette former Sunnydale girl knew she couldn't push him any further, even when that was what she probably should be doing, as her heart told her to.  
  
"Lemme at least get you some dinner," Cordelia said tentatively. "You do eat, don't you?"  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
"What's the point? There was nothing anyone could do. I just had to deal on my own," Buffy retorted persistently.  
  
Xander's voice held a hint of sarcasm when he said, "And you see how well that went. You can't just bury stuff, Buffy! It'll come right back up to get you..."  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
Xander smiled a thin smile at the brunette; however, it was a heartfelt grin this time.  
  
"Yeah, I guess I do," the guy replied softly, and Cordelia looked suddenly surprised, grinning wildly. "I, uh, I've got to make a call first though."  
  
"You've got yourself a deal," she chimed in, excited with the chance of winning back her old friend. "And Xander? You're not alone - you know that, right?"  
  
Xander smiled, looking at the floor. Then he stared back at her, his expression enigmatic somehow and if only thinly, perhaps too thinly yet, the lost young man was still grinning nevertheless. "You're paying for dinner."  
  
"I wouldn't count on it," the brunette woman grinned playfully. And, as he left to call Special Agent Phillips, she whispered, "Don't you try to slip away from me again, Xander Harris."  
  
But what they didn't know, was that they were being observed right at that very moment.  
  
***  
  
Please, if people are actually following this, let me know! I'm almost dropping this project... Seriously, I need some motivation - my ambrosia :) 


	8. One Step Closer

Title: The Observer  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.  
  
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.  
  
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.  
  
Summary: After a tragedy hits home for Xander, he moves to Los Angeles and becomes a shadow of his old self, shoving his friends away in his new life. Two years later, the pain and quarrel of his past is back to catch up with him. (BtVS/AtS crossover)  
  
***  
  
Right now, Cordelia Chase was trying to keep her cool exterior. But the truth was that this whole situation was almost too scary, and the nervousness she was feeling deep inside was obviously clear to her male companion.  
  
The brunette was afraid of saying the wrong thing, that'd push Xander away from his friends once and for all. She couldn't help but think that it should had been Willow or Buffy here in her place, trying to reach him again - they were his best friends and, in every way that really counted, his true family after all.  
  
But destiny had had other plans, and thus Cordelia had been charged with this responsibility. And after all the losses both the Scooby and Fang gang had suffered in the last few years, it was a truly scary position to occupy.  
  
But, despite the great insecurity crawling about in her belly, she wouldn't give up: because she was Cordelia Chase, and that expression wasn't exactly compatible with her vocabulary after all.  
  
And because of that, it'd led them to where they were now.  
  
At a restaurant, busy-looking waiters walked with silver trays containing custom-made foods and very expensive drinks masterfully balanced on their shiny surfaces. The tables, containing silky white covers, had a unique arrangement of flowers in their middle; along with porcelain plates, accompanied by an almost absurd number of knives and forks.  
  
However, it was at a stand which was located in front of said fancy restaurant that Cordelia and Xander were being served by a bearded, smiling hot-dog vendor, working in an improvised establishment in the middle of the street.  
  
"Ketchup, ma'am?" the old man asked, already turning the condiment bottle upside down and impetuously shoving the red fluid onto the woman's 'dog, drenching it with the tomato flavoring.  
  
Cordelia winced helplessly, and muttered awkwardly, "Guess so..." The brunette girl then paid the bill, a forced grin on her lips.  
  
"Thanks, sugarlips - and don't forget to recommend me to all your friends!" the bearded man yelled as the two former Sunnydalers walked away, offering them a thumbs-up and a wide grin.  
  
"Did he say friends? 'Cause for some reason I think I pretty clearly heard mortal enemies," Cordelia commented, eyeing her sausage confection strangely.  
  
Xander also had his brown eyes laid, with a hint of amused incredulity, on the hygienically doubtful hot dog he held in his hands - the sausage and bread lost in a tangle of mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup and some other bits and pieces the dark-haired guy couldn't quite identify yet.  
  
"Cordy?" his voice questioned her, but his odd glance kept on the hot dog.  
  
The brunette girl replied in the same absent-minded way, "Hmm?"  
  
He gave her a sideways look. "Are you subconsciously trying to tell me to never again ask you to pay for dinner? 'Cause if you did, I think you succeeded, ya know..."  
  
Cordelia snorted, looking beat. "At least I win *something*."  
  
Inside her mind though, the brunette knew that what she had actually won tonight might be simply priceless. Because she knew Xander was trying to avoid any substantial conversation with her - after so many months without contacting any of his friends, the dark-haired guy was trying to avoid anything that could be too personal, and thus break his firmly placed shields.  
  
"Nah, don't be too hard on yourself," Xander's helpful voice made her snap out of her thoughts, while they kept on walking along the darkened streets of the City of Angels.  
  
The young woman looked at the hot dog for a long second, and then helplessly back at her companion. "I can only see a serving of evil, in the form of a hot dog here. And I may be speaking literally, 'cause there's something definitely moving in this sea of ketchup right over here," she frowned with a wrinkle of her nose and pointed at it with a glance, cringing in disgust.  
  
"Doesn't seem like demon sauce to me," Xander shrugged, and then frowned. "But it sure does look like a fly is fighting for its life, close to the big brunette's mouth."  
  
"Ew, ew, ew," Cordelia automatically cringed, finally trashing her hot dog into a container that they were passing by, an action quickly mirrored by her friend.  
  
Remembering something, Cordy then sent a sideways glance at him. "And hey, I resent the big brunette mouth bit!"  
  
"I'm only saying, from the poor little fly's point of view," the guy defended himself, his voice suddenly innocent and accented with a hint of amusement.  
  
If looks could kill, Xander would have instantly dropped dead from the one the brunette sent at him. "Could you see me caring less for the fly that presents big fat Cordy to the world?"  
  
"Now, that's hardly the behavior of a higher being," her dark-haired ex- boyfriend muttered with a hint of sarcasm.  
  
And to Cordelia, the reference to that time of her life brought back a specific memory, a selective remembrance destined to soon fade away in the tangle of her daily thoughts.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
If Cordelia Chase had still had a physical form, the color would have completely drained from her face. The higher being slowly and absent- mindedly started shaking her metaphysical head back and forth, trying to take in the information she had just received.  
  
Her voice was baffled when she asked, "Is this...?"  
  
"The only way. You've gotta go back. Save the Champion," Skip answered the never-finished question promptly.  
  
"Is that like even possible?" Cordelia managed to choke out the words, confused. "And what about the thing about work to be done in the higher realms? I thought I was needed..."  
  
The demon took a step further, glancing at her meaningfully. "And you are. But this is an important decision; and we haven't been able to come up with anything better. The world will need Angel in the upcoming fight, and that might get a litttttle complicated if he's a mindless drone in the middle of a Vegas desert casino."  
  
Cordelia seemed a little offended. "Gee, couldn't they've just labeled my butt with a stamp that says, 'expendable'?"  
  
"You don't have a butt anymore," Skip retorted helpfully.  
  
Cordelia scowled at the demon. "Right, why don't we all mention that. The girl with the glowy ass. Real sexy," she hissed, her features holding a sarcastic smirk for a moment.  
  
"Your ascension to a higher level was part of a vital plan, and your leaving? It'll disrupt the balance. But at some point, you have to know when to cut your losses. Their level's weaker for now, and the Powers have chosen the Champion, and thus, they'll still have you too," Skip elucidated.  
  
There was a moment of meditative silence.  
  
"Powerless again, huh? No more nasty headaches. And no more exchanging the nasty headaches for glowy powers and demony freakiness," Cordelia thought out loud contemplatively, and snapped her head to the being at her side, confused. "My visions...?"  
  
The answer was instantaneous. "Given to another person. A demon girl in Ecuador. Lot going on there; a cult may be trying to open a Hellmouth in that country. And the Powers are not very happy with the idea."  
  
"What's this girl like?" the former head cheerleader inquired, a little overprotective about her powers being given to a seer in South America.  
  
"She's fairly cute, but kinda on the skinny side though," Skip replied, after a reflective moment.  
  
The female-looking higher being rolled her metaphysical eyes. "Duh, I meant 'will-she-be-able-to-handle-it' what's this girl like!"  
  
"Oh, that. Gotcha. She's a Larian demon, and they're a pretty decent crowd. Nonviolent, the do-gooder kind. She'll handle it."  
  
"And what about us? I won't be looking out for LA anymore - how's the city supposed to hold its own, without the visions or my higher being's lookout thingy? Won't we, like, be in super-deadly danger? There is a Hellmouth pretty close by, after all," Cordy considered worriedly.  
  
"Which is why a Slayer is on duty there," Skip replied pointedly. "Cordelia, please; in your heart, you've got no doubts about the matter. You know what you have to do - and what you want to do - so what's the problem? Sometimes, I just don't get you. Humans always do tend to complicate things..."  
  
Cordelia's rebuttal was surprisingly direct. "Fear. Dumb denial thing too. That was pretty simple actually," she frowned at this.  
  
She sighed deeply, "The whole higher being thingy was cool. I mean, it was different and confusing at first, but the way I was sometimes able to help... that was just, wow. Okay, kinda boring at times too, but I mean gee, I was like the gorgeous head cheerleader of the team," this comment caused Skip's eyes to go wide.  
  
"But you needed the closure," the demon guide understood. "You're feeling guilty because you think you're abandoning your post for some stupid selfish need."  
  
Cordelia nodded slowly, her features showing a hint of shame. "And am I?" her voice was low, and almost scared.  
  
Skip shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. But who knows, maybe you're also destined to do something bigger than the former plan and you somehow feel it. It happens sometimes."  
  
"That's not very helpful," the female higher being scoffed with a sideways glance.  
  
There was a pause, and the words came more serious, in a solemn tone. "You've surpassed every expectation the Powers That Be had of you; overcome every barrier, Cordelia. You've grown so much and so quickly in your life that, as far as I'm concerned, you're an amazing person. You've got an immense potential to do good, no matter where."  
  
After a moment of introspection, Cordelia raised her immaterial head and grinned a heartfelt grin. "Now that was a lot better."  
  
"It had a little spark, huh?" Skip looked proud for a moment, but his features quickly returned to a more somber expression. "If your heart's telling you that you don't belong here, then you should listen because I'm sure there's a reason for it."  
  
"Will it be painful?" she asked, slightly fearfully.  
  
"Painless," the demon guide rapidly replied. "You'll just have to close your eyes."  
  
Her voice was now small, and she looked like a scared little child, "What do I do now?"  
  
The question was futile though, as Cordelia already knew the answer inside her heart. Skip put a hand on her shoulder, his demon mouth twisting into an amicable smile. "Now you do the right thing."  
  
Cordelia smiled as well, and vanished from the higher realms.  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
As the memory faded away, the woman glanced at Xander. "Former higher being. As far as I know, I'm now just your good old average booooring ordinary girl-next-door Cordelia."  
  
"And you don't even have the hot cheerleader outfit. That must suck," the guy contributed to her misery, his lips sporting a small grin.  
  
"Yeah, feel free to plunge the knife into my back a little deeper any time," the young woman said sarcastically, with a mocking grimace.  
  
"Won't forget that advice, Cor," Xander replied with a hint of amusement.  
  
But despite the mocking, somehow her ex-boyfriend seemed distant to Cordelia - obviously, there had to be a lot going on in his mind right now, with the return of the mysterious killer who had made him the man he was today, a mere shade of his old self.  
  
The truth was, the brunette girl had no idea what was going on inside his head. It was like he was there, but another part of him wasn't, and that scared the hell out of Cordelia Chase. Xander had accepted her invitation to dinner, but he seemed inwardly conflicted - about letting her in, letting his past in again.  
  
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted as Xander abruptly stopped walking, turning to glance at her. After a moment of silence, as if he was trying to find the right words, he said, obviously hesitant, "Maybe... maybe we should call it a night then."  
  
"But it's still so early," a surprised Cordelia said lamely, as they both briefly glanced up at the dark sky. She frowned, looking beat, and amended, "In, in Japan maybe. But, hey, remember the whole globalization thing? It's the wave of the new century, really."  
  
Despite himself, Xander smiled for a second. But the small grin rapidly died on his lips; he glanced down and then back at her, a sad expression on his features.  
  
The former higher being understood immediately - this was gonna take some time still. And, even if it wasn't enough for her, Xander had taken a big step in the right direction today, after so much time completely shoving all them away.  
  
Cordelia smiled wordlessly too; like Xander, it was a sad smile, but also a comprehending one. There was no need to exchange any further words, as the former cheerleader simply knew that pushing him on this would only mean actually pushing him away.  
  
"See ya tomorrow?" the former seer said tentatively.  
  
Xander grinned enigmatically, before turning and disappearing into the faceless crowd walking along LA's streets. "Weather permitting..."  
  
Cordelia watched him walking away, and after another sigh simply headed off home.  
  
***  
  
Hidden in a dark alley, a dark-haired man reaching his thirties saw the couple drifting apart, and, waiting for the brunette girl to reach a safe distance, quickly and cautiously started to follow Xander Harris.  
  
***  
  
Please, review and tell me what you think! Just one thing: I'm not intending to turn this into a C/X, actually, I still have no idea what I'm truly intending in the pairing stuff. Give me your ideas! 


	9. The Thin Line

Title: The Observer  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.  
  
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.  
  
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.  
  
Summary: After a tragedy hits home for Xander, he moves to Los Angeles and becomes a shadow of his old self, shoving his friends away in his new life. Two years later, the pain and quarrel of his past is back to catch up with him. (BtVS/AtS crossover)  
  
***  
  
Xander couldn't quite get rid of the feeling that was crawling inside his belly, of the strange certainty that someone was following him. Turning around and sending a brief glance over his shoulder, he only saw a gathering of pedestrians though, with most people lost in their own world and problems and just looking absently at the person in front or the side of them.  
  
When the dark-haired guy turned back, he accidentally bumped against a middle-aged, average-looking woman, who automatically yelled, "Hey! Watch it, you young whippersnapper!"  
  
"Sorry," Xander muttered absently, his attention still splintered in three directions with an alert sideways glance to the crowd of pedestrians.  
  
After so many years of fighting on the Hellmouth, the young man could not help but have developed some sort of sixth sense of approaching imminent danger. He tried to shrug it off, but the feeling didn't go away - leaving him with that familiar unsettling sensation.  
  
***  
  
The dark-haired man lost Xander from view and frowned for a second, casting a glance through the crowd. "Where did he bloody well go?" he whispered to himself.  
  
***  
  
Walking out of the empty alley he had rushed into, Xander noticed a man that had stopped abruptly and had his back to him, casting a watchful eye at the mass of pedestrians.  
  
His steps were speedy and resolute when Xander walked to the still- unidentified guy, the civilians getting out of his way as the former Sunnydaler seemed to ignore the presence of anyone but him and the target.  
  
Xander then patted the other man's shoulder none-too-gently, making him spin around.  
  
"Good Lord, don't ever sneak up on me like that again!" Wesley Wyndam-Pryce cried out, wide-eyed for a second by the suddenness of the touch.  
  
A startled Xander backed one step away and asked with incredulity, slightly aggressively, "Me sneaking up on you? Wesley, why the hell were you following me?"  
  
"Xander," the dark-haired Englishman blurted out, just barely recomposing himself. "I, I wasn't - no, I suppose I was following you, in point of fact." After a frown, he continued more somberly, "Look, I didn't intend anything sinister, but I've uncovered something significant - that will be of great interest to you."  
  
A little more cooled down, Xander said sardonically, "Really. I wonder, do Angel or Cordelia even know you're here?"  
  
At the mention of the two names, bruised remembrances flashed in a millisecond through the older man's mind.  
  
~ Flashback ~  
  
Wesley, an IV in the back of his left hand and a bandage around his throat, was lying on the bed with his eyes closed when Angel walked into the hospital room. A heart monitor was beeping in the background, the sound that had been the sole company to the injured man for many long hours.  
  
The vampire closed the door and walked over to the bed, as Wesley's eyes blinked open.  
  
Angel's voice was calm and gentle. "Hey, Wes. I just - I want you to know I understand why you did it. I know about the prophecies and I know how hard it must have been for you to - do what you did. You thought I was gonna turn evil and kill my son. I didn't. It's important you know that. This isn't Angelus talking. It's me, Angel. You know that, right?"  
  
Wesley blinked his eyes once, as if in confirmation.  
  
"Good," Angel, still apparently calm, nodded.  
  
And then, unexpectedly, the dark-haired vampire pulled the pillow out from under the former Watcher's head and pushed it down on his face.  
  
The vampire's next words were accented by hints of madness, pain and anger. "You son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for what you did! You took my son! You son of a bitch! You bastard! You think I'd forgive you?! No! Never! You're gonna die! You hear me? You're gonna pay!"  
  
Wesley's hands fumbled over Angel's arms and shoulders, unsuccessfully trying to push him away. An orderly ran in and pulled Angel and the pillow off the dark-haired man for a moment, but the vampire shrugged him off and pushed the pillow back down on Wesley's face.  
  
Angel continued to yell, "You took my son! You took my son!"  
  
Fred Burkle, who had just arrived into the room, begged him, "Stop it!"  
  
Angel, however, didn't respond to the petite Texan's plea, "You took my son!"  
  
Two more orderlies and Gunn grabbed ahold of Angel, and pulled him off Wesley. "Angel! Stop!" Gunn shouted.  
  
"Never! Never!" the souled undead ardently replied.  
  
"Come on, man, stop!" the hunter appealed fruitlessly.  
  
Angel ignored that too. "I'll kill him! You're dead!"  
  
The orderlies and Gunn wrestled Angel backward out of the room, as the Afro- American guy repeated once more, "Angel, stop, man!"  
  
In the meanwhile, Wesley was lying on his bed, gasping for breath. Angel started screaming as he was forcefully walked out of the room, "You're dead! You're a dead man, Pryce! You're dead! I'll kill you! I'll kill you. You're a dead man! Dead! Dead!"  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Wesley was lying in his hospital bed and staring up at the ceiling, when his sideways glance caught a glimpse of Fred. The Texan girl, carrying a box under her arm, knocked on the open door and he turned his head to look at her.  
  
Fred smiled. "Hi, Wesley. How are you feeling?"  
  
The injured man made a motion towards his throat, as Fred settled the box down on a chair.  
  
"Oh," the petite brunette blurted out. "It's not permanent though. I brought you some of your stuff from the office. Things there... well, things. Gunn and I found your notes about - the baby, the prophecy. You took him away because you thought Angel was gonna kill him. You were trying to protect 'em - both of them. I just wanted you to know I understand that - and I also wanted to say, I thought what Angel tried to do to you was wrong - and I'm sorry."  
  
A pause, and she turned to him again. "But he was right to blame you, Wesley. You should have come to us. You should have trusted us instead of going to Holtz behind our back. You're supposed to be our friend and you didn't even... if Angel sees you again, he'll kill you, Wesley. This time for real. Don't come back to the hotel - ever."  
  
The Texan girl turned to go, but stopped halfway, with her back to Wesley. Then she said, "The prophecy was false. Angel was never gonna hurt Connor. It was all for nothing."  
  
Wesley could do nothing but watch silently, distressed, as Fred walked out of the room.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
After hearing the banging the slightly scruffy-looking man, sporting an unfamiliar full beard, went to open the door - finding Gunn behind it.  
  
"I need your help," the black man uttered, as Wes stood there.  
  
At the lack of response on the other man's part, the demon hunter continued resolutely, "Look, I don't have time to get into it with you. I don't even wanna be here. The hotel is infested with something. Some kind of slug, jellyfish type thing. We don't know what they are," the youth paused as Wesley just walked past him and continued, slightly more unsure, "or how to kill them."  
  
"Well, now, that is a problem," the former Watcher replied, looking very unperturbed.  
  
"These things, there's hundreds of them. They get inside you and soak up the whole moisture out of your body. They drink you alive," Gunn persisted.  
  
Wesley, fiddling with stuff on his table, answered nonchalantly, "Why come to me? I'm sure Angel will figure out a way to kill them eventually."  
  
"That's not what I'm looking for. I need to know how to get these slugs out of someone who's been infected, force it out somehow," the bald man said.  
  
"Sorry," Wesley replied, without a hint of remorse.  
  
Gunn's eyes held a spark of frenzy, "Don't give me that - if you could see what these things do..."  
  
"Wish I could help," the dark-haired man insisted, seemingly apathetic to the other man's presence in the room.  
  
A hint of despair crossed Gunn's dark eyes as well now. "Wes..."  
  
Wesley turned to look at him. "Sorry you wasted your time."  
  
"It's Fred," he stated pointedly.  
  
After a beat, the former Watcher turned and took a bottle of booze out of a cabinet.  
  
"What? We're gonna have a drink now? Did you hear what I said? She is dying!" a shocked Gunn yelled.  
  
For the first time, Wesley's voice showed emotion, the pain obvious in his eyes as he said, "I was dying. Throat cut, life pouring out of me - you know why I fought to live again?"  
  
"Wes, I don't have time," Gunn retorted a little angrily, a little uneasily.  
  
The older man ignored him. "I fought to live so I could see my friends again, to explain to the people I loved and trusted *my* side of what happened."  
  
The Afro-American guy intervened, "We know what..."  
  
"You don't know anything," Wesley spat out, and then threw the bottle at Gunn who captured it in the air. "I'll help because it's Fred, but don't come here again. Any of you," Wesley said at last, his voice coldly resolute.  
  
~ End of Flashback ~  
  
"They don't know," Wesley confessed nonchalantly. And then he added pointedly, with a cold tone, "And I'd prefer it to stay that way."  
  
"'Cause protecting my very own personal stalker is on my 'to do' list for today?" Xander retorted sarcastically, eyeing the Englishman and expecting answers.  
  
"Perhaps we could go somewhere to talk," Wesley suggested, somehow nervously.  
  
"And perhaps you'll give me one good reason, why I shouldn't just give Dead Boy a call right now."  
  
Wesley smirked bitterly, a hint of sadness in the act - as if it was a past wound that had never properly healed. "I take it someone's filled you in about the events of our... quarrel."  
  
"Quarrel? Jeez Wes, I know you Watcher types are all into fancy names and stuff, but I think we can use the proper word, just between us guys huh? Try betrayal. Fits you better," Xander scoffed.  
  
Wesley sighed deeply, the sorrow and languor evident behind the cracking shield of cold indifference. "I don't expect you to have any faith in my word, Xander-"  
  
Xander cut him off, with acrid sarcasm imprinted in his voice. "I'm touched, really, 'cause for a second there I thought you were gonna ask me to do just that."  
  
Despite the intervention, Wesley kept on, "But I do think you should hear me out, nevertheless."  
  
Wesley's following words - simple, meaningful, and said in a slightly frantic tone - made Xander's heart skip a beat. "I've found a way to break his magic shield."  
  
At the dark-haired youth's dazed silence, the Englishman gingerly added, "I don't believe I need to explain who I'm referring to. But first off Xander, I do need you to understand things that are of vital importance. You can't let either Cordelia or Angel know about this conversation, or anybody else- "  
  
Wesley was cut off by Xander's tight grip on his throat. The guy carried him forward till the Englishman bumped against a nearby wall; and the strong collision made his eyes go wide for a second in pain.  
  
Although a few curious pedestrians saw what they were doing, most others ignored it completely. Well, this was L.A. after all, and the motto for its citizens was 'don't get involved'.  
  
Wesley couldn't breathe; but after having his throat slashed and becoming ostracized by his so-called friends, his survival instincts were razor- sharp. Grasping Xander's wrist at the appropriate pressure-point, the ex- Watcher squeezed and Xander let go.  
  
And when finally released, a gasping Wesley automatically raised his hand to the bruised throat, rubbing it absent-mindedly.  
  
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take you to Dead Boy right now," Xander said firmly and coldly, and surprisingly even-tempered.  
  
"This is not a trick," Wesley replied slowly, his voice still affected by Xander's sudden attack as the pedestrians walked by. More recomposed and eyeing the other guy intensely, he amended with more than a little harshness, "And I'm telling you the truth, you can choose to believe it or not."  
  
"Okay," the younger man smirked humorlessly. "I choose not to. Now, where were we? Right, taking ya to Dead Boy. Guessing here that, after taking Junior away from him way back when and joining that creepy law firm's side, you've really done wonders for his appetite. And you know, the angry papa plus the vampire-y bloodthirstiness thing? Not good, Wes. Do ya think British blood's tasty? Gotta remember to ask him, later..."  
  
The words came out so directly, so pained and so frank that, for a single second, Xander inwardly shivered strongly.  
  
"I'm with Wolfram & Hart now, I won't deny it. But I'm there as a double agent. And Angel, Cordelia or anyone else does not have the slightest idea - every night I go to bed, I relive the mistakes I made or almost made in the past, and understand how bloody close I came to losing myself to what I've never stopped believing as being the wrong side. And the price I'm paying is all that I've done during the past three years is help them, even though they'll never know it. I do not dare to not let my facade down, Xander, because I'd have lost valuable knowledge I now otherwise have."  
  
Xander, despite the sudden and strong hint of uncertainty crawling inside his belly at the unexpected confession, chuckled dryly yet energetically. "Right, so we're in the Twilight Zone now? Some kind of freaky deaky conspiracy, and you're the oh-so-altruistic martyr that helps his old buddies in the dark of the night? Isn't that like, the new "24" plot?"  
  
Wesley sighed deeply, but the dark-haired guy continued stubbornly, "So, let me see if I got this straight: it's all been part of a plan, you're one of the good guys, yadda yadda yadda. Well, just for the sake of argument, let's say you're not just some freakin' Judas and the whole oddball, Mulder- like thing is actually true..."  
  
Xander paused. "The first person you confess the deeply buried secret to is me, Xander Harris? Someone you actually knew for only a few months as the teen buddy of a Slayer that, if I recall correctly, treated you as nothing but an unwelcome British gimp? Now, either you had some real nasty feelings for me that I never knew about, or, and my pet theory here by the way, it's all a whole lotta bullshit that's part of some twisted plan cooked up by those evil lawyers you chose to make friends with. The stories Cordy told me about them? Not something to write home about."  
  
The thirty-something Englishman looked briefly at the ground, and then glanced at his dark-haired companion. "Your low opinion of me is not without justification, as are your conclusions. But that was the wild card I had to play - because you wouldn't have any reason to believe me if I hadn't told you all this, and I wasn't willing to take the risk. Now I can do no more but say that you'll have to take my word on this, just as I'll have to take yours not to tell anyone what I've told you now."  
  
The ex-Watcher then looked right into the other man's eyes. "Just hear me out, Xander. All I'm asking for is ten minutes," a more desperate tone accented Wesley's words.  
  
The younger man hesitated, and the question came out in a suddenly small, almost fearful voice. "How - how do you know how to break it? And, something else: how come you even know of the shield's existence?"  
  
Wesley cast another dark glance to the ground, and then turned back to lock eyes with Xander again. "Because Wolfram & Hart were the ones that created it in the first place."  
  
***  
  
AN: OK, I'll make sense. Soon! And I need you to remember that I'm not using any S4-7 spoilers, because I didn't watch a single episode - Brazil'n network will only transmit it in march... Yeah, it sucks!  
  
Anyway, please, pretty please, review me! I'm kinda super nervous with this fic... 


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